


Lost Stars

by kimpotato



Category: NU'EST
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Light Angst, Mentioned Hwang Minhyun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:34:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25125517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimpotato/pseuds/kimpotato
Summary: Tired and sad, struggling artist Dongho asks a stranger for spare change for a bus ride home. He receives something else, something better (maybe), instead.
Relationships: Kang Dongho | Baekho & Aaron Kwak | Aron, Kang Dongho | Baekho/Aaron Kwak | Aron
Comments: 8
Kudos: 31





	Lost Stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DrunkenBiscuit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrunkenBiscuit/gifts), [Flamie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flamie/gifts), [wintercrystale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintercrystale/gifts).



> Cookies for the maknae line, for being good kids today (still highly debatable but whatever).

_This one. He looks decent. I’ll ask him._

Dongho quietly observes the only other person at the gas station, waiting for him to finish pumping gas into his car. He also uses this time to muster up his courage to speak. When the stranger walks back to the fuel dispenser, Dongho knows his time is up. He takes a deep breath and carefully approaches, fists gripping the strap of his guitar case tightly.

“Do you maybe have some spare change?” he asks, smiling a lopsided smile. It is an old habit, something he subconsciously does whenever he feels nervous or embarrassed. 

Or both.

Like now.

The stranger, a young man with silver hair and facial features fit for the Louvre **,** eyes him curiously. Finally, he smiles, a lazy smile that makes Dongo gulp and regret his recent life choices.

“Maybe,” the stranger replies, as he returns the nozzle to the gas pump. “But why should I spare them for you?”

Dongho curses internally, both himself and his once-but-no-longer-friend. It is Minhyun’s fault, after all, that he is currently stuck at a gasoline station at five past eleven, with a heavy heart, an almost empty wallet, and nowhere to go. If Minhyun hadn’t backed out last minute from their gig, hadn’t abandoned him in the middle of Boston after a terrible fight, then maybe Dongho would now be enjoying a warm bath or at least a cup of coffee. Instead, he is stuck at a gasoline station, asking strangers for spare change so he’d have enough money to take the next bus home.

“Because you’re a good Samaritan who cannot say no to someone in need?” he asks lamely.

The stranger snorts, already walking back to his car. It is an old model, Dongho’s ideal, definitely, if only he has enough money to actually buy one. But a struggling artist rarely has extra income for such luxuries, let alone his basic needs. Like spare change for his bus ride home.

“Where are you headed?”

“New York,” Dongho quickly answers.

The stranger hums. “How much do you need?”

Dongho makes a quick computation in his head: He has $10 in his wallet, a paltry sum, even after impromptu busking for two hours on a cold Boston sidewalk. If memory serves him correctly, a bus ride from Boston back to New York is roughly $17. 

“Seven dollars?” Dongho asks in a small voice, feeling small himself. It is easier when he busks—when people drop coins in his guitar case, he knows they’re getting something in return. He may not say it out loud often, but Dongho is proud of his songs—the covers and the self-composed ones. Asking for spare change randomly, with nothing to offer in exchange—it just makes him feel sorry for himself.

But he’s tired, and he’s sad, and he’s no longer in the mood to sing for strangers who wouldn’t even spare him a second glance.

“You busk?” the stranger asks, as if reading his mind. He eyes Dongho’s guitar case curiously.

“I do.”

“Pretty out of way for a busking session,” the stranger smiles, looking around the quiet gasoline station.

Dongho smiles bitterly. “Yeah, I had a change of plans.”

“Don’t we all,” the stranger comments, though not unkindly. “How about a song then? A song worth seven dollars.”

Dongho complies easily, already unhooking the guitar case from his shoulder. This is safe territory: a song for some coins. Equivalent exchange.

“Any requests?” he asks, already tuning his guitar. It is honey brown, sleek and smooth and fits perfectly in his arms. Minhyun often joked that he is still single because potential lovers know better than to compete for Dongho’s affections. His guitar would always come first, after all. In a way, Dongho guesses Minhyun is right.

The stranger shrugs. “What were you supposed to sing before you had a change of plans?”

Dongho pauses mid-strum. He grimaces, remembering his argument with his friend. Well, perhaps Minhyun is no longer his friend now. 

He remembers it all: Minhyun telling him that he’s been scouted, that it is a good opportunity, something he can’t let pass. Him, accusing Minhyun of being a sellout. Them, arguing on their way to their gig, which resulted in Minhyun calling the whole thing off, before kicking him out of his car and driving off. 

A lot of angry, hurtful words were thrown back and forth between them. Dongho isn’t sure if he could ever take them all back again.

_“Please don't see just a boy caught up in dreams and fantasies,”_ he starts, strumming his guitar as the stranger leans against his car, listening quietly. _“Please see me reaching out for someone I can't see.”_

Dongho continues singing, his lines and Minhyun’s, performing solo instead of a duet. Every line pinches his heart.

_God, tell us the reason youth is wasted on the young_

_It's hunting season and the lambs are on the run_

_Searching for meaning_

_But are we all lost stars, trying to light up the dark?_

He ends the song, heart heavy and light at the same time. Turning to the stranger, Dongho finds him smiling kindly, as if he has understood Dongho’s feelings just by listening to the song. After all, that’s what music does, right?

“That’s worth way more than seven dollars,” the stranger tells him. As he pulls his wallet from his back pocket, Dongho feels relief and exhaustion fighting for dominance in his chest. 

“Unfortunately, I don’t have any cash,” the stranger confesses, showing the contents of his wallet. It is filled with different cards (Dongho even sees, briefly, a photo of two dogs), but no cash.

Dongho deflates, and at the same time he feels anger welling up, the same anger he had felt just hours ago. It is unfair, he thinks, that he gets toyed by a complete stranger on the same day he loses his best friend. Did the universe hate him so?

“I’m headed to New York myself,” the stranger continues. “I can give you a ride if you want.”

Dongho blinks, trying to read the stranger’s intentions. “How do I know you’re not a serial killer just waiting for a chance to snuff me out?”

The stranger snorts, already opening his car door. “How do I know _you’re_ not one?”

Dongho opens his mouth to protest, then realizes the stranger has a point.

“Touche, I guess.”

“Come on,” the stranger waves at him to hop in the passenger seat. “I’m not going to kill you. Trust me.”

Dongho hesitates for a second, and then realizes that hitchhiking with this stranger might be a better option than going back to New York on foot. If anything, it is much less lonely, too.

“Kwak Aaron,” the stranger introduces himself, extending a hand as soon as Dongho straps himself in. 

“Kang Dongho,” Dongho replies, shaking the hand firmly, gratefully.

“Nice to meet you, Kang Dongho,” Aaron replies, starting his car’s engine and pulling out of the station. “Got any more songs up your sleeve? This will be a long ride, after all.”

Dongho smiles, heart still sad but somehow hopeful. He taps a finger against his lap, checking his guitar that is securely strapped in the back seat.

“You don’t mind acapella, do you?”

###

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta-ed. Yell for typos.


End file.
